


Mad Klingons and Englishmen

by rusty_armour



Series: Speak No Evil [2]
Category: Star Trek: Enterprise
Genre: Gen, Humor
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-11-22
Updated: 2009-11-22
Packaged: 2017-10-03 13:20:02
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 12,534
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18556
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rusty_armour/pseuds/rusty_armour
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The mission is in jeopardy, Reed's life is in peril, and Archer wants to play hero: it's a typical day on Enterprise.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Mad Klingons and Englishmen

**Author's Note:**

> You'll find this hard to believe, but I actually did a surprising amount of research for this fic. I consulted Issue 146 of Star Trek Communicator for some very cool NX-01 schematics and Alan Sims's article on Klingon food in the May 2002 issue of Star Trek -- The Magazine. [Yes, I'm a geek.] To learn a bit about Klingon weaponry, I visited the Klingon Imperial Weapons Guild, and I picked up some Klingon vocab at the most excellent Klingon Dictionary website. Even my Enterprise trading card addiction paid off. Not only are the cards pretty and shiny but informative too. [Help me -- I've turned into a colossal Trekkie!]
> 
> I want to thank my good friend, Kathye, who helped me with this story despite her very busy schedule. You ROCK, Kathye!
> 
> © 2004

* * *

The target was in range. It was going to be difficult with so many witnesses, but Reed felt confident that, with a tiny degree of stealth, it could be done.

The armoury officer craned his neck and gazed into the viewscreen of the situation room's central console. The flat screen was surprisingly reflective from certain angles, especially now that it was displaying the latest data compiled on the gas giant they had passed yesterday.

Reed placed his features in a cool mask of professional efficiency and was certain that, to the casual observer, he appeared to be checking the current status of the pretty orange ball...

"Oh, for crying out loud, Malcolm, there's nothing wrong with your hair!" Tucker cried. Reed immediately recoiled from the screen. Then, ignoring Mayweather's snigger, he glared at Tucker.

"I was only glancing at the information the science team has collected on the gas giant," Reed stated stiffly, crossing his arms.

"Yeah, sure you were," Tucker said, rolling his eyes. "I can really see why our armoury officer would suddenly take an interest in the gas giant, especially when the science officer is here to handle that particular job herself."

"I think it's commendable that Lieutenant Reed should be interested in areas outside his field of expertise," T'Pol said from across the console.

"Well, thank you, Sub-commander," Reed said, gazing at Tucker smugly. "It's nice to know that someone appreciates my...interest in areas outside my field."

"You're welcome, Lieutenant. And as your hair is approximately 1.2 centimetres out of its usual alignment, I suggest you take this opportunity to use the reflective properties of the viewscreen to adjust it before the Captain arrives."

Reed blushed and glared at Tucker again when the chief engineer made no effort to contain his laughter.

"Thanks," he grumbled and, looking into the viewscreen again, he attempted to fix his hair. "How much longer is the Captain going to be, anyway? It feels like we've been standing here for twenty minutes."

"We have been standing here for twenty minutes," T'Pol said calmly.

"Well, what's he doing in there?" Tucker asked. "It's not like the Captain to call us in for a meeting and then hole himself up in his ready room."

"He's talking to Admiral Forrest," Hoshi said, polishing the console with her sleeve.

"Uh, oh. I wonder what we've done this time," Mayweather muttered.

"Ensign, you shouldn't assume that Admiral Forrest has contacted the Captain simply to issue a reprimand," T'Pol said. Then she raised an eyebrow as the four Starfleet officers stared at her. "All right, Ensign, there's a high probability that Admiral Forrest has contacted the Captain to issue a reprimand. I suppose I was trying to be...optimistic."

"Well, don't! It's creepy enough when Malcolm does it!" Tucker said with a shiver.

"Hey!" Reed began. "I'm--" He was cut off as the Captain stepped out of his ready room.

"Are we in trouble?" Tucker said immediately.

Archer stopped for a second, weighed the question carefully, then shook his head. "No, we're not in trouble. Not exactly."

"What does 'not exactly' mean?" T'Pol asked, frowning slightly.

"Well, I'm not exactly sure," Archer admitted, walking to the central console. "T'Pol, I don't know if this question would fall under the heading of science or philosophy, but is it possible to be in trouble when everyone has forgotten you exist?"

T'Pol's eyebrows soared dramatically. "What?"

Archer squirmed uncomfortably, fighting to meet the Vulcan's gaze.

"According to Admiral Forrest, the people back home have forgotten we're up here."

"But-but-but that's impossible!" Tucker said. "Captain, are you sure that Admiral Forrest's right about this? I mean, it seems pretty far-fetched that _everyone_ could have forgotten about us. For one thing, there's my mama. I know that she couldn't have forgotten!"

Archer smiled at Tucker sadly and shook his head.

"Mama forgot we were up here?" Tucker exclaimed. "But _how_? She's-she's my mama!"

"She may be your mama, but she completely forgot you were up here, Trip. She's got the authorities searching for you in three states. She even tried to contact me in San Francisco. When no one could find me either, she became convinced that I must have done away with you and then went into hiding. There's currently a warrant out for my arrest."

"Oh, sweet Jesus!" Tucker shouted.

"Yes, that's exactly what I said."

Tucker clutched the console in front of him and took a deep lungful of air. "I wrote her all them letters! Did they get lost in space or something?"

Archer rubbed his face wearily. "The Suliban took them."

"The Suliban! Why?"

"To disrupt the timeline, I guess. By deleting all of our transmissions to Earth, they could ensure that Starfleet and the rest of the planet forgot all about us. In a sense, I suppose they were trying to wipe out our existence."

T'Pol arched a skeptical eyebrow. "That's the most ridiculous thing I've ever heard," she stated bluntly. "How did they delete all of our transmissions without being detected?"

Archer shook his head. "I'm not sure. I guess they travelled back in time."

"Captain, you can't possibly expect me to believe that. The Vulcan Science Directorate--"

"--has determined that time travel is impossible," the rest of the senior staff said.

T'Pol blinked once but said nothing.

"Admiral Forrest says that we have to drum up some publicity and fast," Archer said. "We need to make an impression on the people back home, give them a reason to be proud of us."

T'Pol's other eyebrow rose.

"Okay, a reason to remember us, then," Archer said. "_Any_ reason," he added when everyone stared at him blankly. "It doesn't have to be anything positive. In fact, Admiral Forrest says that some negative PR, like a nice juicy scandal, would probably be best. Remember how much flack we got from Earth when we accidentally blew up that Paraagan colony? The people back home certainly knew who we were then."

Reed's eyes lit up and a tiny smile tugged at the corner of his lips.

"But Admiral Forrest thinks we should find a less destructive method," Archer said quickly. "We're still being monitored by the Vulcans after all."

Reed's smile disappeared and he frowned in confusion.

"The Vulcans who are pacifists," Archer explained to his armoury officer.

"Oh, that," Reed muttered, still looking unconvinced.

Archer cleared his throat and addressed the other members of his senior staff. "We need to do something that will really make an impact on Earth."

"Well, if we launched some torpedoes at it--" Reed began.

"No, Malcolm, not _that_ kind of impact."

"Oh."

"I know," Tucker said, slapping his hand on the console. "I could get pregnant."

Archer politely considered Tucker's suggestion for a few seconds. "Hmm...not bad, though it has been done before. Now, if Malcolm or Travis were to--"

"NO!" Reed and Mayweather shouted in horror.

"Captain, how about an important scientific discovery?" T'Pol asked, once she could be heard above Reed and Mayweather's protests.

"I don't know," Archer said. "It's kind of boring, isn't it? I think causing a major political incident--perhaps an interplanetary war--would be a lot more exciting."

T'Pol's hands seemed to tremble slightly before she clasped them behind her back. "Perhaps I should leave this assignment to you, Captain. It is more in your area of expertise than mine."

"Hmm...you could be right, T'Pol. Besides, I might need you here to negotiate my release if I'm incarcerated. I'll bring Travis and Hoshi along. Travis is sometimes good in a fight, and Hoshi can make sure the UT is picking up all of my insults properly."

"Hey, what about me?" Tucker demanded. "I'm really good at offending alien cultures too, you know."

Archer smiled. "Oh, I know you are, but I'm planning to send you and Malcolm off on your own."

Reed looked at Archer in surprise. "Uh, are you sure that's wise, sir?"

Now Archer grinned and slapped Reed on the back. "I know it isn't. That's exactly why I'm doing it. You two always get in trouble when you're off on your own. I'm counting on you both to do something really stupid."

"I thought that's what you were supposed to be doing, sir."

"You two are my backup plan."

Reed grimaced. "Ah, yes, of course."

* * *

Two days later, Tucker and Reed were standing in the middle of a huge, bustling market. Tucker stared openly at the wares of the crude wooden stalls: the brightly coloured textiles, the delicate pottery, the intricate jewellery. Even the questionable talents of the street performers had the chief engineer gaping at his surroundings with the wonder of a child. Reed, on the other hand, was wrinkling his nose at the pungent stench drifting from a pen of livestock. The creatures looked like a cross between a sheep and a cow.

Reed's eyes were still watering from the overpowering scent of the perfume one vendor had sprayed in his face. One of the armoury officer's hands clutched his scanner tightly, while the other hovered anxiously over the phase pistol nestled in its holster.

"Aaaaah!" Reed drew back as a sweaty merchant, with rolls of fat along his stomach, dangled something resembling a dead rabbit before Reed's eyes. "No, no, no, no, no! No, thank you! No!" Reed cried.

Tucker grabbed Reed's arm and pulled him a safe distance from the merchant.

"Remind me why the Captain chose this planet again," Reed grumbled.

The Enterprise had entered the Galea System a few hours earlier. Archer had been planning to send an away team down to an inhabited planet called Testrel 7. Then T'Pol consulted the Vulcan Database and discovered that Testrel 7 wasn't a pre-warp culture, but a technologically advanced society. Archer knew they stood a better chance of creating a diplomatic incident on a pre-warp planet and, despite T'Pol's objections, ordered Mayweather to plot another course.

When the ship reached the vicinity of Traken, Reed's scans revealed much more primitive structures and few signs of technological advancement. The only traces of metal he could detect were some copper and iron deposits. Closer scans revealed a flourishing market economy that relied heavily on the barter system. It reminded Archer of Akaali, one of the first planets they had visited and definitely one of the most rustic. He decided Traken would be the perfect place to establish first contact and carry out the mandates of their current mission. He immediately announced that he was going down to the planet.

T'Pol reminded Archer that they still needed to conduct research and that he and his team needed to don clothing that at least possessed a passing resemblance to the local garb. Archer took inordinate delight in informing his first officer that the away team would remain in their uniforms, watching as one Vulcan eyebrow shot up and remained, suspended, in a fixed orbit on T'Pol's face.

"Oh, yes, I remember now," Reed muttered, frowning slightly.

"I don't think there's much more we can do here. I say we cover the rest of the stalls in this area and then report back to the Captain," Tucker said.

"Sounds lovely," Reed sighed. "I, for one, will be very happy to--"

"Mah shirt!" Tucker shouted.

"What?"

"Mah shirt! He's got mah shirt!" Tucker screamed, jumping up and down. He pointed wildly at an alien that had just passed them in an appallingly garish shirt.

"He's got your ma's shirt?" Reed asked incredulously. "But how did it end up in outer space?"

"No, not Ma's shirt! _Mah_ shirt!" Tucker repeated, thumping his chest to emphasize his point.

"Oh, _your_ shirt. You had me worried for an instant. I thought it was something important."

"It _is_ important! It's _mah_ shirt, the one that was stolen by those gorgeous alien babes on Risa!"

"You mean those _male_ alien babes on Risa!"

"Not at first!" Tucker protested. "Not before they stole _mah_ shirt, Mahhhlcolm!"

Reed winced and tried to back away, but Tucker was clutching at his uniform.

"We've got to get it back!" Tucker whined.

"For God's sake, why? It's hideous!" Reed said.

"And it's _mah_ shirt. It's-it's the principle of the thing."

Reed turned his head but could see no sign of Tucker's ghastly shirt. "I don't know, Commander," he said. "That alien was moving pretty quickly. He's probably long gone by now."

"Dammit, we have to try!" Tucker insisted, grasping Reed's uniform more tightly.

"It's not exactly part of our current mission, though, is it? The Captain asked us to generate some negative publicity. I don't think your shirt's going to do it, no matter how frightful it is."

"The Captain said he was counting on us to do something stupid, right?"

"Yes."

"Well, what could be more stupid than pursuing this alien because he's got _mah_ shirt?" Tucker argued.

"Hmm...you do have a point, unfortunately. I'll just contact the Captain and-Commander!"

Tucker had already broken into a run and was pushing his way through a mass of market patrons.

"Commander!" Reed called. He attempted to catch up with Tucker, murmuring apologies as he weaved his way around bodies and through the crowd. He kept his gaze fixed on the dark blue uniform moving some distance in front of him. He didn't dare take his eyes off Tucker for a second. The chief engineer had the irritating habit of falling into danger whenever he was left to his own devices.

Reed was so focused on his quarry that he didn't see the large figure that stepped out in front of him.

"Mmmph," Reed said, unable to understand why he could no longer see Tucker or why he was no longer moving. Then it occurred to Reed that something was blocking his path. He tried to walk around the obstacle, but there was a vice-like grip on his shoulders. He struggled but that only seemed to anger the obstacle, for it growled menacingly.

Reed raised his head reluctantly and his eyes locked with the ones above him. The obstacle blocking his path was a seven-foot tall Klingon.

Reed gaped up at his adversary in shock before it occurred to him to panic. He tried to break free again, but the Klingon apparently had no intention of releasing him just yet.

"Hullo," Reed said, deciding to employ diplomacy this time. "I'm terribly sorry I bumped into you. I was trying to catch up with my friend, who's gone in search of his missing shirt--It's a matter of principle, you see--and I wasn't looking where I was going. It was incredibly careless of me."

The Klingon didn't say a word, just continued to stare down at Reed.

"I would imagine that you must have better things to do than stand around here talking to me. Please, don't let me detain you."

The Klingon tilted his head slightly to one side, but still said nothing.

"All right, then, please don't detain me. That shirt I was just telling you about--well, it's extremely valuable. It is, in fact, the property of none other than the Lord High Chancellor of--"

"Hu'tegh!" the Klingon cursed. "Be silent or I'll flay you alive!"

Reed gulped then nodded. The Klingon continued to scrutinize the armoury officer, his dark eyes narrowing.

"You...you are human," the Klingon pronounced.

"Well, yes, I am, rather," Reed said, seeing no point in denying the fact. Then he remembered the bounty the Klingon Empire had placed on Archer's head and realized that denial would have been the better option.

"Archer," the Klingon growled. "You are Jonathan Archer."

"No! No, I'm not Jonathan Archer," Reed said quickly.

The Klingon regarded Reed suspiciously for a moment, before seizing him by the front of his uniform. Reed gasped as he realized that his feet were no longer touching the ground.

"You are not Archer?" the Klingon shouted.

Reed flinched as a blast of warm, fetid air hit him in the face.

"No, honestly," Reed said, shaking his head dazedly.

"But you know where Archer is," the Klingon insisted.

"Wh-why would you think that?" Reed asked, laughing nervously. "Oh, my...you do have sharp teeth, don't you? Is it true that Klingons actually sharpen their teeth before going into battle?"

The Klingon roared and Reed almost passed out.

"Oh, there you are. I was wondering where you got to."

The lolling head immediately snapped up as Reed searched for the source of that southern drawl.

"Commander!" he whimpered once he had located Tucker, who was standing a few metres to the Klingon's left.

"Well, it looks like I lost it," Tucker stated, gazing down at his boots miserably. "It was almost within my grasp, when I tripped over someone's dog. At least, I think it was a dog. It was dog-shaped, you know? Anyway, by the time I talked my way out of that fist fight, mah shirt was gone...Hey, do you think you'd be able to pick it up if you ran some scans from the ship?"

"Commander!"

Tucker looked up, studying Reed and the Klingon curiously. "Who's your friend, Malcolm?" he asked. Then he studied the pair a little more closely and blushed. "Whoa! I didn't realize I was interrupting anything. I'll, uh...I'll just leave you guys to it..."

"Commander," Reed said threw gritted teeth, "this nice Klingon wants to kill me."

"Not from where I'm standing. 'Cause from where I'm standing..." Tucker broke off as the Klingon hurled Reed to the ground. Shaken, the armoury officer hesitated a few precious seconds before trying to crawl away. He had only covered half a metre before the Klingon hauled him back to his feet and pressed a dagger to his throat.

"Jesus, Malcolm! That Klingon's trying to kill you!" Tucker exclaimed.

"That's what I've been saying!" Reed shouted back.

"Where is Archer?" the Klingon demanded.

"Commander, this gentleman would like to know where Captain Archer is," Reed said.

"Captain Archer? Why the Captain's--"

"Several thousand light years from here."

Tucker stared at Reed blankly.

"We met Captain Archer back on earth, remember? He's the captain of that _other_ starship that's in an entirely different system than we are. You know, Captain Archer: the man the Klingons want to execute."

"Oh!" Tucker said, realization dawning. "_That_ Captain Archer!"

"Is this true?" the Klingon barked.

Tucker crossed his arms and regarded the Klingon coolly. "If Malcolm says it's true, then it's gotta be true--just like all those stories he told me about his ex-girlfriends in San Francisco."

Reed bit his bottom lip. "Uh...quite." Then he tensed as the Klingon's dagger moved dangerously close to his Adam's apple.

"You will help me find Archer or you will both die," the Klingon hissed in Reed's ear.

Reed knew he had no chance of disarming the Klingon when the weapon in question was pressed against his throat. Even with Tucker's help, any attempt to escape the Klingon's clutches was risky at best. The situation looked somewhat bleak.

"There's no hope left for me," Reed said to Tucker, trying to raise his chin bravely without cutting himself. "You must go now while you still can. Save yourself, Trip."

Tucker looked long and hard into Reed's eyes. Then he met the dark, burning eyes of the Klingon.

"Uh, okay!" Tucker cried and took to his heels across the market. Reed watched Tucker flee in outrage.

"Commander!" he shouted. "I didn't actually mean it! I was just trying to sound noble! Oh, come back here, you daft pillock!"

"I think he's gone," the Klingon said a few seconds later.

Reed sighed. "Yes, it would appear that he has. I suppose you'd better take me to your ship, then, unless you'd prefer to kill me here."

"I'll take you back to the ship to kill you, so the whole crew can watch."

"Hmm. Thought as much."

There was an uncomfortable silence as the Klingon stood, lost in thought, and Reed waved to some curious onlookers.

"We could wait a little longer," the Klingon suggested. "Your friend might return."

Reed smiled, touched despite the dagger poised at his throat. "That's awfully good of you, but there's no point, really. It'll probably take Trip ten minutes just to track down the Captain, or think to contact T'P-our first officer back on the ship. If it's all the same to you, I'd prefer to get the pummelling and killing over and done with."

"Heghlu'meH QaQ jajvam," the Klingon stated. [1]

"Yes, I suppose you're right."

The Klingon reached into his uniform and pulled out his communicator. "Bring us up, Sko'teH!"

* * *

Tucker squirmed under the scrutinizing gaze of his captain. He had found the rest of the away team at the shuttlepod after a frantic search of the entire market. They had managed to acquire a basket and some fruit, but nothing to write home about in a message that could be intercepted by the Suliban.

Archer had been lounging contentedly in the grassy field where Mayweather had landed shuttlepod one. Of course, that had all changed when Tucker had breathlessly told Archer his story. Now Tucker could practically feel the burning intensity of Archer's anger coming off the man in waves. Oh, yes, the Captain was mighty ticked.

"You lost Malcolm?" Archer asked in disbelief. "You _lost_ him?"

"Well, 'lost' isn't exactly the word I'd use. He was more stolen than lost," Tucker said meekly.

Archer laughed quietly and shook his head. "He was 'stolen'. Oh, I see. That makes all the difference in the world, as being 'stolen' still means Malcolm's gone!"

Tucker bowed his head. "I know, Captain."

"And you say this happened while the two of you were trying to apprehend an alien wearing your shirt," Archer continued, barely managing to suppress the rage in his voice. "This shirt was stolen too, I take it."

"Yes, sir. When Malcolm and I were on Risa. It was stolen then."

Hoshi's eyes widened and a hand flew to her mouth as she burst into giggles. "So, _that's_ what happened to your clothes!"

"I thought Malcolm's story about selling them to raise money for that Risan orphanage was a bit fishy," Mayweather said with a grin.

"Oh, crap!" Tucker groaned, putting his burning face in his hands.

"Whoa, whoa! Hold on a minute! Are you saying that Malcolm was kidnapped by a Klingon because you were trying to get back one of your stupid, loud shirts?" Archer demanded.

"Uh...well..."

"Which one was it? That orange one?"

"No, the purplish lilac one."

"Ugh! Trip, that shirt's horrible!"

Tucker's jaw dropped. "What are you talking about? I think it's a beautiful colour. It brings out the blue in my eyes and it has those white accents."

"'White accents'?" Archer screamed. "You got Malcolm kidnapped over 'white accents'?"

Hoshi and Mayweather exchanged concerned glances as Archer clenched and unclenched his hands. Then Archer took a few deep breaths and tried to control his temper.

"You said we should do something stupid," Tucker muttered, starting to feel angry himself after the abuse his shirt had suffered.

Archer's eyes narrowed dangerously. "And of all the stupid things you could have done, you had to piss off the one species in the galaxy that has a bounty on my head!"

"I didn't piss him off! Malcolm did!"

"But was it his own more tasteful, conservative shirt he was trying to track down when he ran into that Klingon?"

"No, we weren't looking for Malcolm's boring, unappealing shirt because I'm sure our Risan muggers couldn't find any blind people to buy it!" Tucker shouted.

"Oh, I don't know about that. They could have just shown your shirt to the buyers first: that would have been enough to blind them!"

Tucker turned away abruptly, wiping at his eyes. "You're so mean!" he said tearfully. "It's just a defenceless, little shirt! It never hurt anybody!"

Hoshi pulled Tucker into a hug, and Mayweather patted him on the back sympathetically. Archer was about to make another caustic remark when his communicator beeped. He flipped it open impatiently.

"Yeah, what is it?" he snapped.

# Captain, is everything all right? #

"No, everything is not all right, T'Pol. Malcolm's been stolen by a Klingon."

# I see. That is most unfortunate. Do you wish me to contact his family and make arrangements for the funeral service? #

"What? God, T'Pol! How can you be so heartless?"

# I'm a Vulcan. #

Archer's hands curled into fists again. "We're not giving up on him, do you hear me? We're going to find him and bring him back to Enterprise."

# Captain, may I remind you that the Klingons have placed a bounty on your head? Such an act would not be prudent. #

"I don't give a damn whether it's prudent or not! I want my damn armoury officer back!"

# They'll recognize Enterprise immediately and either attempt to board the ship or destroy it entirely. #

"Then we'll disguise it so they won't recognize us."

There was a long pause on T'Pol's end of the transmission before they heard her voice again.

# And how do you suggest we do that? #

Archer glanced over at Tucker with a vindictive smile. "Trip's the chief engineer. I think we should let him figure it out."

* * *

"So this is a human," the Klingon captain growled. "They're even smaller than I imagined."

The human in question squared his shoulders and stood a little straighter. Reed was standing on the bridge of the Cha'par, a raptor-class ship with eery similarities to the Somraw, the disabled Klingon ship he had explored a year ago with T'Pol and Hoshi. However, on this ship, all the Klingons were conscious and alarmingly healthy.

"I found the human in the market on Traken," Reed's captor said.

The Klingon captain suddenly rose from his chair, and Reed took an involuntary step back.

"Have you brought me Archer?" the Klingon captain boomed.

"No, but I thought this human could help us find Archer."

The captain stared at Reed shrewdly. "The human knows where Archer is?"

"He claims that he doesn't."

"That seems unlikely," the captain said, his eyes still fixed on Reed. "Nevertheless, I am sure we can devise a means to make the human talk."

He gestured to his second officer, who vacated his station and grabbed Reed roughly. He was about to drag Reed away when the captain changed his mind.

"No, wait. I have a better idea," the captain said. "It has been some time since we last had a guest. It is only right that we offer the human some hospitality."

"'Hospitality'?" the second officer asked in surprise.

His captain grinned, bearing his sharp teeth.

"Oh, yes. I believe the human would enjoy some sport."

The three Klingons laughed unpleasantly. Reed was slightly less amused.

"I don't much care for sports," he said. The three Klingons glared at him fiercely. "Uh, however, when on Qo'noS do as the Klingons do," he added quickly.

The captain stared at Reed a moment longer, then nodded curtly. "This is my first officer, Wroth," he said, waving a hand at the Klingon who had kidnapped Reed.

"I am Miff!" the second officer thundered, thumping a fist against his chest.

"And I am Grunt, son of Groan, son of Gripe, of the House of Grouse," the captain stated proudly. "What do they call you, human?"

Reed swallowed nervously. "I am Malcolm, son of Stuart, son of...son of..."

_Oh, bloody, buggery, bollocky hell! What was Granddad's first name?_

Reed tried desperately to remember, but his rattled brain refused to cooperate. The Klingons were watching him expectantly. They would grow impatient and angry soon.

"I am Malcolm," Reed repeated. "Malcolm, son of Stuart, son of Granddad...of the House of Reed."

"Well, Malcolm, son of Stuart, son of Granddad, of the House of Reed, may your stay with us be violent but memorable," Grunt said, throwing an arm around the startled human's shoulders.

Wroth and Miff laughed again, and Reed smiled weakly, trying to suppress the wave of panic that was threatening to overwhelm him.

* * *

Commander Charles Tucker III stood on Enterprise's hull in his EV suit. Tucker was approximately twenty metres from the deflector dish, his eyes glued to the huge black lettering of the ship's name and registration number. He had finally come up with a method to disguise the ship and was just waiting for the supplies he had requested from engineering.

Unfortunately, waiting led to thinking and that was an activity he just didn't want to engage in at the moment, for his thoughts kept wandering to a certain armoury officer of his acquaintance. But worse than that were the tiny murmurings of guilt nagging at his conscience.

Tucker couldn't help thinking that maybe there was something he could have done down on that planet. He kept replaying that last terrible scene in his head. He could picture the hulking Klingon holding that sharp dagger at Reed's throat. He could still see Reed telling him to go, to save himself. Now, Tucker knew he had done the right thing because he had followed Reed's instructions to the letter. So why did he keep experiencing pangs of remorse? Could he have possibly made the wrong decision? Had he failed his friend when his friend had needed him most?

"Nah!" Tucker said to himself.

# Commander. #

Tucker turned his head to identify the voice coming through his headset, squinting at the figure clunking slowly towards him. When his fellow crewmember was within arm's reach, Tucker recognized the face behind the helmet.

"Well, if it isn't Ensign Torpedo!"

# It's _Torpeneau_. #

"Yeah, sure. Whatever. Hey, isn't 'torpeneau' French for 'torpedo'?"

# No, it's French for: "If you weren't my superior officer, I'd smack you up the side of the head, sir". #

"Really? Hell, I always thought it took the French twice as long to say anything, but it seems like just the opposite is true. Go figure," Tucker said. Then he noticed the toolbox and paint container in the ensign's hands. "Hey, are those the supplies I asked for?"

# Yeah. Can I go now? #

"Go? But the fun's just starting."

Torpeneau grimaced behind his helmet.

# That's what I'm afraid of. Sir, are you planning to paint the hull? #

"Ah! How'd you know?" Tucker asked disappointedly.

# Uh...lucky guess. Sir, you do realize that if you try to paint the hull, the paint's going to fly all over the place, don't you? #

"Not if I use a special nozzle and spray gun."

# But, sir, we're in zero-G. The paint- #

"Look, I'm the chief engineer, not you. I'll figure something out," Tucker said, placing his gloved hands on his hips. Then a thought suddenly occurred to him and he looked at the ensign more closely. "Torpeaneau, what are you doing here, anyway? I thought you were in communications."

# I got bored of the colour. #

"The colour?"

# The blue stripe on my uniform. I wanted a burgundy one. #

"Maroon."

# Whatever. I wanted a new stripe, so I switched over to engineering. #

"You can do that?" Tucker asked in astonishment.

# Sure. Tanner's thinking of transferring over to command because he wants a gold stripe instead of a maroon one. #

"Really?"

# Sir, you should consider changing to a blue stripe. It would really complement your eyes. #

"Oh, I don't know," Tucker said, almost shifting from foot to foot despite the magnetic force pulling down on his boots. "What if I'm put in the science department? I'm forced to spend enough time with T'Pol as it is! There's also the whole question of ethics. Can a chief engineer change his stripes? I mean, really and truly--deep, deep down inside?"

Torpeneau snorted and shook his helmet-clad head.

# Hell, changing your stripes is nothing. You should hear what Crewman Fuller wants to do. She's thinking of changing into a man. #

"A _what_? Why?"

# She says she's bored with- #

"NO! Don't tell me!" Tucked cried. "I don't wanna know!"

* * *

Back on the Cha'par, Reed also didn't want to know. He didn't want to know where the Klingons were leading him or what would happen to him when they got there. He wished he had never heard of the Klingons, despite their superior weapon technology. In fact, he was beginning to wish he had never heard of Enterprise, Captain Jonathan Archer or Starfleet for that matter.

All too soon they reached their destination: a solid metal door. Reed stared at the sign on the door, wishing Hoshi were there to translate the Klingon symbols. Was this some kind of cargo bay or storage area? Or, worse still, an airlock...?

Grunt hit a panel on the wall, and the door slid open. He was about to step inside then changed his mind, inviting Reed to proceed first. Before Reed had a chance to consider the invitation, Wroth had shoved him through the door.

Reed gazed at his new surroundings in amazement. They were standing in a large banquet hall lit with sconces and decorated with bat'leths, ceremonial daggers, and other Klingon weapons. In the center of the hall stood a long rectangular table, with ornate high-backed chairs arranged around it.

"Everything you see before you is holographic," Grunt said.

"Really?" Reed asked, unable to hide the hint of awe in his voice.

"A Klingon battle cruiser acquired the technology from a race known as the Xyrillians. As the captain of that ship owed me a debt, he allowed my engineer to study the schematics. My engineer then created this hall. Unfortunately, it contains a number of flaws that the engineer could not fix."

"Flaws?"

Grunt nodded. Then, as a demonstration, he walked over to the wall and placed his hand against it. His hand fell through and a gap emerged in the wall, revealing the grey metal of the room from which they were generating the holographic image.

"Some parts of the hall cannot retain their integrity," the Klingon captain explained.

Reed nodded sympathetically. He had often experienced the same problems with his EM-barrier, though he had managed to get rid of most of the bugs thanks to Trip. Reed began to wonder what Tucker would think of this holographic technology. Then he remembered something important.

Tucker had been on the Xyrillian ship when the Klingons had acquired that technology. He had been helping the Xyrillians make repairs to their ship and had even visited their holographic chamber. Then Trip Tucker had had a very interesting experience, indeed.

Reed started to back out of the room slowly.

"Where are you going?" Grunt demanded.

Reed froze, his eyes darting around the hall fearfully. "Are you entirely sure it's safe in here?"

"Safe?" Grunt asked.

"I'm not going to get...to get knocked up in here, am I?"

Grunt stared at Reed in confusion. "'Knocked up'? Knocked about, maybe, but--"

"No, I mean knocked up as in...as in pregnant," Reed said, blushing furiously.

"What?" Grunt cried. Then he, Wroth and Miff laughed loudly.

Reed glared at them, crossing his arms over his chest.

"You may think it's funny, but a friend of mine got pregnant in a holographic chamber. He wasn't pleased."

"Do you mean to tell me that human males can bear offspring?" Grunt said, trying to control his laughter.

"No, no, quite the opposite, in fact. My friend had the baby transplanted into someone else."

"Another human male?"

"No, a Xyrillian."

"I see," Grunt said, the corner of his mouth twitching. "Have no fears, little human. We will protect your honour."

"You-you will?"

"Of course. But as for your body, you will have to protect that yourself."

The Klingons started to laugh again, and Reed felt a chill go down his spine.

"What exactly do you mean by that?" he asked tremulously.

"Miff!" Grunt said.

The second officer walked over to a pair of bat'leths mounted on the solid section of wall. He pulled them down then passed one bat'leth to Wroth and the other to Reed.

Reed gazed reluctantly at the weapon in his hands.

"Is this holographic too?" he asked hopefully.

"A holographic bat'leth?" Grunt exclaimed in horror. "No holographic technology, no matter how advanced, could ever replace a real Klingon weapon. It would be dishonourable for any warrior to engage in battle with a false blade."

"Ah, right. Yes, of course," Reed said. Then he frowned. "Battle?"

* * *

T'Pol studied the Captain closely from the science station. While Archer's back was to her, she could still see that his shoulders were straight, his head was held high, and not a hair seemed to be out of place. The Vulcan was forced to admit that the Captain seemed to be functioning adequately given the circumstances. And if T'Pol had been willing to accept the emotions she occasionally experienced, she would have also been forced to admit that she felt a tiny hint of pride in Archer's accomplishment. She had obviously had a positive influence on him if he had learned to control his emotions during a crisis.

T'Pol was on the verge of congratulating Archer when the unthinkable happened: the Captain's shoulders began to tremble slightly. She raised an eyebrow and waited for Archer to regain control of his emotions. But then Archer's body hunched and the shoulders shook visibly.

"Captain?"

"They've got Malcolm!" Archer wailed. "Oh, Malcolm, why did it have to be you?"

"Oh, Surak," T'Pol muttered under her breath.

"It's all right, sir," Hoshi said soothingly. "We'll get him back."

"And if we don't, you can have a shiny new armoury officer," Mayweather commented from the helm.

"Travis!"

"What? I was just trying to help."

"Well, don't!"

Archer, who had been oblivious to the ensigns' conversation, sniffed and wiped his sleeve across his nose.

"I remember how diligently he used to man his post," he confided to Hoshi in a quavering voice.

"I know, sir."

"I can picture his anxious, little face peering at me from the tactical station!" Archer collapsed across an arm of his chair. "Oh, Malcolm, Malcolm, Malcolm!" he sobbed.

Mayweather immediately turned to Hoshi. "Wow, I haven't seen the Captain this upset since Malcolm was taken over by one of those wisp creatures."

Archer lifted his head, his bottom lip trembling. "Oh, that was awful! His body was here, but when I looked into his eyes...the Malcolmosity was gone!"

T'Pol mouthed the word "Malcolmosity" to herself, and Hoshi rolled her eyes at Mayweather.

"Great! Way to go, Travis!"

* * *

As Reed's wide eyes surveyed the holographic hall, he couldn't help wondering where all the Klingons had come from. On the Somraw, T'Pol had told him and Hoshi that a typical raptor-class ship had a crew complement of twelve, and, yet, there had to be at least thirty Klingons in the room.

Perhaps some of them were holographic. Would it be too much to hope that a number of these Klingons weren't solid? Why did he always seem to happen upon the ones with substance?

_Lord, I hope someone's still flying the ship_, Reed thought anxiously as he looked around the hall again. His trepidation grew when he saw Wroth approach him, wielding a bat'leth in his hands.

"You don't really want to go through with this, do you?" Reed asked, just managing to keep his voice steady.

"Yes, I would," Wroth said. "However, I might consider letting you live if you help us find Archer."

Reed looked down at the bat'leth in his hands and shook his head. "I'm sorry. I can't do that."

"Then today really is a good day to die!" Wroth snapped. He whirled around, seeking out his captain. Grunt caught Wroth's gaze and nodded his assent. Wroth turned back to Reed with a vicious grin. Then he lifted his bat'leth and charged.

* * *

"Sub-commander, do you think Malcolm's still alive?" Mayweather asked the Vulcan sitting in the Captain's chair.

"I believe the probability is extremely low," T'Pol said. "I would calculate the odds as being 0.8%."

Hoshi glared at her superior disapprovingly. "I'm glad the Captain isn't here right now. He'd be really upset if he knew you were talking about Lieutenant Reed that way."

"Why do you think I suggested he take a nap, Ensign?"

"Oooooooh!" Hoshi fumed. "You're-you're--"

"A realist," T'Pol answered. "I'm sure Lieutenant Reed would have approved. He was a realist too."

"He _isn't_ dead!" Hoshi cried. "We're going to find him and he'll _still_ be alive! Okay, he might be hurt, but I'm sure he only has minor injuries. Of course, the Klingons are a violent species, so it's possible that he's been maimed. However, other than some missing fingers or toes, Lieutenant Reed is probably fine. And so what if he's missing a limb or has to wear an eye patch? The important thing is that he's still alive...and mostly whole. Well, at least I assume that--"

"Ensign Sato!" T'Pol said sharply.

"Yes, Sub-commander?"

"Please refrain from speculating on Lieutenant Reed's condition. You're upsetting Ensign Mayweather."

Hoshi glanced at Mayweather. He was staring at her with a horrified expression on his face.

"Malcolm!" he squeaked in a small, frightened voice.

"Oh, God!" Hoshi moaned, as she realized what she had just said. "The resident pessimist may be gone, but I've started channelling him!"

Hoshi placed her head in her hands and the bridge was silent after that--silent until the door to the ready room swished open and Archer burst onto the bridge.

"Malcolm? Has there been any word on Malcolm?"

Archer searched the bridge eagerly. Then his shoulders slumped when he saw that Reed was still missing.

T'Pol rose from the Captain's chair. "Wouldn't it be better if you continued your nap?" she asked Archer.

The Captain shook his head. "I can't sleep. All I can think about is Malcolm and what those Klingon bastards must be doing to him," he said miserably. Then, almost careening into T'Pol, Archer stumbled towards his chair.

"So have we found any Klingon ships yet?" he asked.

"No, Captain," Hoshi said.

"Oh. Have we found a vessel that has come into contact with any Klingon ships yet?"

"I'm afraid not, sir. I'm sorry."

"Damn! Well, it looks like there's nothing I can do here. I'll be in my ready room if anyone needs me."

Archer stood up.

# Tucker to the bridge. #

Archer sat down again.

"Yeah?" the Captain said wearily.

# Captain, I've gotta special surprise for ya that I just know you're gonna love. #

"Is it Malcolm?" Archer demanded immediately.

# No...but it should make finding him a whole lot easier. #

"You built a Malcolm detector?" Archer asked excitedly.

# What? No! It's your brand new ship! #

"I'd rather have a Malcolm detector," Archer said sadly.

# Just take a look, will ya? I know you're gonna love it. #

Archer sighed. "Fine. Travis, get a visual."

"Aye, sir."

An image of the ship's hull appeared on the viewscreen. A stunned bridge crew gawked at it.

Tucker had painted over the first five letters of "ENTERPRISE" and had replaced them with three new letters.

"Woah," Mayweather gasped, managing to speak first.

Hoshi opened her mouth but couldn't produce sound.

# So...what do ya think? #

"The NX-O1..._SUR_PRISE?" T'Pol said, as if she could no longer trust her eyes.

# Captain? #

Hoshi and Mayweather gazed at Archer apprehensively. The Captain was squinting at the viewscreen.

"S-U-R-P-R-I-S-E..."

# Captain? What do ya think? It's the ship's new disguise. #

Archer nodded his head slowly and grinned. "I love it, Trip! The Klingons will never see us coming! It will be...a surprise!" He started to giggle. Tucker and Mayweather soon joined in. T'Pol and Hoshi exchanged mutual looks of disgust.

"Now I just have to come up with a cool new alias to use instead of 'Archer,'" the Captain said once he had stopped laughing.

"I've been giving that question some thought," Hoshi said. Then she paused for dramatic effect. "I think I've come up with something you'll really like...Captain _Bowman_!"

Archer stared at Hoshi, tilting his head slightly. "I don't get it."

* * *

He didn't think he could keep this up much longer. His arms were aching from the strain of parrying his opponent's continuous blows. Sweat trickled into his eyes and ran between his shoulder-blades. He had been knocked down a few times, but had managed to roll clear of the bat'leth's blade and continue the fight--so far.

_It's like bloody David and Goliath_, Reed thought as Wroth's bat'leth flew alarmingly close to his right ear.

Reed raised his weapon as Wroth's bat'leth swung around again. Both bat'leths locked, and Reed's arms shook as Wroth placed his full weight behind his weapon. Then Reed's legs gave out, he lost his balance, and fell backwards. As the bat'leths were still entangled, Wroth was thrown through the air and over Reed's supine body. The hall went completely silent. Then the spectators roared their approval.

Reed stumbled to his feet slowly, clutching his head. He blinked a few times and his vision began to clear. He could hear Klingons cheering, but he couldn't understand why. Then he remembered the large shape that had flown over his head and heard a low growl behind him.

"Uh, oh..."

Reed didn't realize how close Wroth was until he swivelled around to defend himself from another attack, and his bat'leth embedded itself in the Klingon's belly.

"Oh, God! Oh, I'm most terribly sorry!" Reed cried.

Wroth howled and staggered back a few steps, the bat'leth still buried in him.

"Uh, could someone fetch a doctor, please?"

Wroth glared at Reed with a furious, pained expression. "I'll kill you for this, human. I swear that I'll--"

Reed watched in fascination as the Klingon swayed. Seconds later, Wroth's eyeballs rolled back and he collapsed in a heap on the floor. Reed would have rushed to Wroth's aid if Grunt hadn't been blocking his path. Reed tensed, waiting for Grunt to strike, maim or kill him.

"Do not concern yourself over his welfare," Grunt said. "My men will take care of him."

Reed stared at the Klingon captain, wondering if he could have possibly misheard him.

"I'm so sorry," he began. "I--"

"Why are you sorry, little human? You won!"

"But--"

Reed froze as Grunt pulled him into a bone-crushing embrace. Just when Reed was sure he'd pass out from lack of oxygen, Grunt released him.

"You-you don't understand! It was an accident!" Reed babbled. "I didn't realize that he was standing right behind me. When I turned--"

"You dealt him a mighty blow!"

"Yes, but it was an accident!"

"No, you are too modest, my friend," Grunt said, patting Reed on the head. Reed squirmed and was about to launch into another protest, when Wroth began to whisper feebly.

"I don't deserve to live. I have dishonoured my crewmates, my ship, and all of Qo'noS. Send me to QeylIS where I belong."

Reed stared at Wroth, torn between admiration and pity.

"Well, what say you, human?" Wroth asked.

Reed snapped out of his daze. "What?"

"You are the victor. It is for you to choose whether Wroth lives or dies."

"Me?" Reed gasped in horror.

Grunt nodded gravely.

"Well, I want him to live!"

"You choose to spare his life, then?"

"Yes, of course I do!" Reed said. Then, as if he feared that his verdict wasn't clear, he lifted his right thumb in the air.

Grunt clapped Reed on the back. "I would never have believed it if I had not seen it with my own eyes: the human has honour!"

The other Klingons cheered, and Reed smiled shyly.

"Malcolm, son of Stuart, son of Granddad, of the House of Reed, I grant you the privilege of choosing the next sport."

Reed's eyes immediately darted to the holster at Grunt's side and his smile grew.

"Well, I've been told I'm rather good with a pistol."

* * *

Reed had finally started to have some fun. Grunt had ordered one of his crew to set up a target in the holographic hall. Then Grunt and Reed had taken turns shooting at it using the pistol. Grunt was good but Reed was better. However, after the first round, Reed had allowed his aim to slide a little, deciding it was in his best interest to let Grunt win and not piss off the Klingon captain. Grunt saw through the armoury officer's ploy, but accepted it graciously all the same.

After they had both provided an adequate display of their marksmanship, Grunt had suggested that they switch to Klingon throwing knives. Reed was beginning to enjoy this particular sport as well, until one of his knives went astray and hit a small creature that had been standing near the target, bristling and snarling.

"Oh, no!" he cried. "I've hit your little dog!"

"Silly human!" Grunt growled. "We don't use targs until the next round!"

Reed's eyes widened and he was forced to look away when one of Grunt's crew carried the twitching targ away.

"I'm very sorry."

"Bah!" Grunt said, waving his hand dismissively. "That targ has stirred my appetite--I say we eat!"

"Sounds good to me," Reed answered. He wasn't really hungry, but he thought he could avoid wounding anything else if he was sitting at a table. That was assuming Klingons didn't dine with overly sharp implements--if they did, in fact, use cutlery.

The food had been cooked and prepared while Reed had been trying not to get himself killed. Grunt took Reed's arm and led him to the table where the meal was being laid out.

"Oh, my friend, you are in for a treat," Grunt said, rubbing his hands together. He sat down at the table and indicated to Reed that he should join him. Reed immediately wished that he hadn't when his eyes fell on the dishes before him, and his nostrils were assaulted by an extremely foul aroma. His stomach heaved and Reed only managed to keep his breakfast down with the greatest degree of willpower--and the hand clasped over his mouth.

"Oh, God," he whispered, once he was able to regain control of his stomach.

"Impressive, isn't it?" Grunt said proudly. Reed bit his lip and nodded.

"These dishes are Qagh and braq'taQul," Grunt explained, pointing to two platters that seemed to consist of worms. "Uh...are they supposed to move?" Reed asked, watching a worm make a break for freedom across the table.

"They are best served live," Grunt said, smashing the escaping worm with his fist. Reed placed his hand back over his mouth again when Grunt plucked up the same worm and dropped it on his plate.

"What's that?" Reed gasped, gesturing timidly to something resembling an animal's heart.

"Heart of targ, a dish you will enjoy, I'm sure," Grunt said with a grin. "Oh, and this is glast. Watch your fingers with this one, human."

Reed closed his eyes tightly, his face turning pale.

"Well, what are you waiting for?" Grunt demanded. "Eat!"

Reed's eyes opened slowly and he fought another surge of nausea when he was confronted by the Klingon cuisine again. Then his courage failed him completely. Grunt had finally managed to break him.

"All right, I'll tell you where Captain Archer is!" Reed cried. "I'll tell you anything!"

Grunt laughed. "Silly human! We know that you have no knowledge of Archer's whereabouts. Have you not just proven your worth? You are honourable and carry no lies in your heart."

Reed looked away uncomfortably, wishing Grunt's words were true.

"Come, this is not the time for long faces!" Grunt said. "Feast with us! You have earned your supper!"

Reed smiled politely and tried to think of a way to get out of the meal, for he was sure that if he sampled any of the food before him he would die on the spot. However, he was also sure that if he refused to eat, he would be insulting Grunt and the Klingons would kill him.

"This meal looks delicious," Reed managed at last. "Really, it does. Unfortunately, I'm fasting. You see, I'm trying to purify my soul, and, so, I swore that I would not allow one morsel of food to pass these lips."

The table went silent and Reed laughed nervously.

"Surely any good warrior should be...pure. Is it not the...the honourable thing to do?"

Reed forced himself to make eye contact with Grunt, while he waited for the Klingon captain to strike, maim or kill him. But Grunt surprised Reed once again.

"You speak the truth, little human," Grunt said. "I have allowed my crew to become soft and undisciplined. Perhaps some deprivations would transform them into strong, fierce warriors once more. Miff, have this food removed from my table."

"But, Captain--" Miff began.

"Do it!" Grunt barked.

Miff nodded hastily and stood, marching swiftly from the holographic hall. Ignoring the loud grumbles of his other dinner guests, Grunt turned back to Reed, who tried not to look too overjoyed at the prospect of missing a Klingon meal.

"You must at least allow drink to pass your lips," Grunt said.

"Uh...yes," Reed answered. He didn't think Klingon beverages could possibly be as revolting as Klingon food. He also didn't know how long he would be remaining on the Cha'par and didn't particularly wish to suffer from dehydration again on a Klingon ship. He had once gone for a week without food, living off of water and apple juice. Maybe the Klingons had invented a drink that was similar to apple juice...

A large metal chalice landed in front of Reed with a thump. Then Grunt was pouring him a drink from a tall vessel.

"Here, have some blood wine," Grunt said.

"Bl-blood wine?" Reed stuttered. "Does it have real blood in it and, if so, whose?"

"Drink and find out," Grunt said in amusement.

Reed stared at the blood wine suspiciously, though he allowed his fingers to touch the metal cup. He had survived black pudding that one day his mum had decided to be more adventurous in the kitchen. Blood wine would probably be okay.

Reed lifted the cup and took a sip. Then he immediately started coughing.

"It's good, no?"

"Yes, it's lovely," Reed said hoarsely, before he raised the cup to his lips again and drank some more.

"We should have song," Grunt announced to the table at large. Then he slapped Reed on the back, almost knocking Reed's wine from its cup. "Little human, it is our custom to sing when we drink. As you are our guest, I feel it is only right that you should go first."

Reed coughed again, his eyes watering.

"You-you want me to sing?"

"Yes, of course,"

"I see," Reed said. Then he drained the rest of his cup.

"Come, there must have been songs written about the House of Reed," Grunt insisted.

"Er...not exactly..."

There were murmurs of disappointment around the table, and Grunt's disposition now seemed decidedly sour.

"The House of Reed doesn't have a song?" Grunt growled.

"No, I'm afraid it doesn't," Reed admitted. "However, there is one song we sometimes like to sing," he said when Grunt's expression grew darker. "It's a song we Reeds have sung proudly for generations."

* * *

The empty tactical station was beeping. T'Pol moved towards it quickly and sat down despite Archer's angry glare.

"I'm detecting a ship approximately 17 kilometres dead ahead," T'Pol stated.

"Can you identify it?" Archer asked, instantly forgiving T'Pol for trespassing in Reed territory.

"It's a Klingon ship, raptor-class," T'Pol said. "I find it curious that it isn't cloaked. They must not have anticipated any threats in this system."

"Or our disguise fooled them," Archer said cheerfully.

"Ye-es."

"Hoshi, hail them. I'd really like to speak to the captain of this uncloaked raptor-class Klingon ship."

"Aye, sir."

Hoshi opened a channel and, an instant later, a Klingon appeared on the bridge viewscreen.

"Hiya!" Archer said. "I'm Captain Ar--"

Hoshi and Mayweather coughed.

"-Captain _Bowman_ of the Starship _Surprise_. May I ask whom I'm addressing?"

# Second Officer Miff. What do you want? #

"Well...I'd like to speak to your captain, please."

# My captain is busy and refuses to be disturbed. #

"But--"

# Go away! #

The viewscreen promptly went blank, and Archer stared at it in confusion. Hoshi was wearing a similar expression on her face.

"Captain, you're not going to believe this," she said, "but I could have sworn I heard 'Rule Britannia' in the background when you were speaking to Second Officer Miff."

Archer turned from the viewscreen to his communications officer.

"Really? Wow. Well, that's good news. We may not be making much of an impression on Earth, but we've obviously made some kind of impression on the rest of the universe."

"Uh, sir, that might not be the only piece of good news."

Archer's eyebrows rose. "Oh?"

"They're singing 'Rule Britannia'."

"Yes, I think we've established that, Ensign."

"It's a British song, sir."

"Yeah, the title kind of gives it away, doesn't it?"

Hoshi closed her eyes for a moment, her hands grasping the edge of her console.

"Lieutenant Reed is British," she explained patiently.

"Yes, I had noticed," Archer said, rolling his eyes. "I think the accent was the first clue."

Hoshi leaned forward and banged her head on her console a few times. Then she lifted it and, against her better judgment, tried to communicate with Archer again.

"Captain, doesn't it seem like a bit of a coincidence that I should hear someone singing a British song on a Klingon ship after our British armoury officer is kidnapped by Klingons?"

"What exactly are you getting at, Hoshi?"

Hoshi looked at T'Pol with desperate, pleading eyes, and the Vulcan finally took pity on her.

"Captain, I believe what Ensign Sato is trying to say is that Lieutenant Reed is on the Klingon ship."

Archer chuckled quietly and shook his head. "I don't know, T'Pol. That's a bit of a stretch."

"Perhaps, Captain, but where your armoury officer is concerned, surely you should leave no stone unturned."

Archer sniffed and then coughed in an attempt to hide his tears.

"You're right. If our roles were reversed, Malcolm would be doing everything in his power to find me."

"I think you should hail the Klingon ship again and tell them that you know they have your armoury officer."

Archer took a deep breath and quickly wiped a tear from his eye. "Okay, Hoshi, hail the Klingons." Hoshi nodded and opened a channel. Archer rose from his chair, deciding to adopt an aggressive stance.

"I know you have my armoury officer," Archer said as soon as Miff's face came up on the viewscreen.

# I don't know what you're talking about. #

Archer glared at the Klingon and the Klingon glared back. Archer put his hands on his hips and the Klingon did likewise. After Archer had waved his fists and stamped his feet, he ran out of methods for intimidating the Klingon. He stood looking lost for an instant, before his pride disintegrated completely.

"Please, I really need to find him," Archer whimpered. "He's about this tall," he said, raising a hand to chest level, "and he answers to the name 'Malcolm'. My communications officer could hear someone singing 'Rule Britannia'. And...and now I can hear it too!"

Miff looked away, shifting in his chair in a surprisingly nervous fashion for a Klingon.

# I, uh...I still don't know what you're talking about, human. #

"Captain," Hoshi said. Archer turned to her questioningly, and she pointed to a spot on the far left-hand side of the viewscreen. Another Klingon had popped up and was moving, unsteadily, towards his station. He also happened to be singing.

# Rule Britannia! Britannia rule the waves! Britons never, never, never shall be slaves! #

Archer crossed his arms and smiled smugly. The drunken Klingon stumbled, tripped and disappeared from sight. Miff looked as if he would like to do the same.

# Your armoury officer...He is Malcolm, son of Stuart, son of Granddad, of the House of Reed? #

"Uh..."

"Yes, he is!" T'Pol said quickly.

# I see...If I let you board this ship and take your human, do you promise never to travel within a hundred light years of the Cha'par or the noble Klingons that serve as her crew? #

"Uh..."

"Yes, he does," T'Pol answered.

"Uh..."

"Yes, he does," T'Pol repeated, gazing at Archer sternly.

Archer gulped and nodded. "Yes, he does."

* * *

The journey from the Starship Surprise to the Cha'par seemed to take forever. The Captain had allowed Mayweather to pilot shuttlepod one on T'Pol's insistence, even though he was itching to clobber the young ensign and seize control of the helm himself. Of course, if Archer had had his way, he would have charged in alone and made a daring and impossible rescue. But T'Pol had reminded him that he had, in fact, received permission to board the Cha'par from Second Officer Miff and did not need to charge anywhere. Then she had told him that if he didn't take Tucker and Mayweather along, he wouldn't be allowed to go at all.

"How much longer?" Archer whined.

"Sir, did you feel that slight bump just now?" Mayweather asked, without turning from the helm.

"Yeah."

"That was the shuttlepod docking alongside the Cha'par."

"In other words, we're here," Tucker said.

"Oh, goodie!" Archer exclaimed, leaping to his feet. Then he was leaping through the shuttlepod hatch and onto the Cha'par. With Tucker and Mayweather in tow, Archer headed for the bridge. After two wrong turns he found it.

"Where's Malcolm? Where's Malcolm?" Archer shouted, looking around wildly. His eyes landed on Miff, who had stood to greet him.

"Your human is in the holographic chamber," Miff said.

"The holographic chamber?" Archer repeated.

"Yes."

Tucker's eyes widened and he trembled slightly. "Oh, God! Malcolm's not ready to be a mother yet! We've got to get him out of there!"

Archer stared at Tucker in horror then grabbed Miff's uniform roughly. "Where is this holographic chamber? We demand to be taken there immediately!"

Miff tore Archer's hands away, though he couldn't help feeling some respect for the overbearing human.

"Follow me," he said, and the three Starfleet officers followed him off the bridge.

The group hadn't travelled far when a fearsome rumble reverberated around them. Archer jumped, heart pounding, and Tucker's hand grabbed Mayweather's arm in a white-knuckled grip.

"Wh-what was that?" Archer dared to ask.

"It sounded like some kind of monster, sir," Mayweather said.

"Is it a monster?" Tucker cried. "Where? Where?"

"Here!" Miff boomed, jabbing a finger at his stomach. "Its name is hunger and it dwells here!"

"Oh," Archer said, laughing nervously. "I see."

"Well, if you're hungry why don't you just eat something?" Mayweather asked. Then he shrank back against Tucker as he spotted the gleam of rage in the Klingon's eyes.

"I can't eat because your stupid human declared that he was fasting, and Captain Grunt cancelled supper!" Miff roared.

"Malcolm? Fasting? Since when?" Tucker said in disbelief.

Miff gazed at Tucker through narrowed eyes. "Since tonight, I gather," he growled.

"Malcolm should really consult Doctor Phlox before he decides to make such drastic changes to his diet," Archer said. "I'll have to speak to him about it when we reach the holographic chamber. Speaking of which..."

Archer stood patiently, waiting for Miff to take the hint, but Miff was still glaring at Tucker.

Archer cleared his throat. "So...about that holographic chamber..."

Miff whirled around and fixed Archer with a murderous glare.

"I should make all of you lick my boots, you disgusting, pathetic, little maggots!" the Klingon thundered. "I'd rather kiss a targ than spend more time with any of you! You make my blood boil! You make my skin crawl! I want to kill you a hundred times over!"

Miff's fingers twitched and he made throttling motions with his hands. "Die! Die! Die, human scum!" he raged. Then he stood, panting for several seconds, his fingers still twitching.

"The holographic chamber?" Archer inquired again.

"It's over there," Miff whispered, pointing to a door at the end of the corridor. "I...I must leave now." Miff turned quickly and headed back to the bridge.

"Wow," Tucker said. "He was actually kinda nice for a Klingon."

Mayweather nodded. "Very helpful."

"Yeah, whatta guy," Archer said absently. He was standing outside the door of the holographic chamber, staring at it beseechingly. "Must get Malcolm," he muttered to himself. Then he started pounding on the solid metal door. "Malcolm! Malcolm!"

Tucker walked over to the door and hit the panel beside it. The door swished open and Archer fell through.

* * *

"Rule Britannia! Britannia rule the waves! Britons never, never, never shall be slaves!"

Archer picked himself up and assessed the situation grimly. He had landed in what appeared to be a banquet hall, a banquet hall full of plastered Klingons. Fortunately, the Klingons that weren't singing loudly and off key were lying unconscious on the floor.

"Malcolm?"

Stepping over a prone Klingon, Archer walked towards a long, rectangular table.

"Malcolm?"

Covering his ears, Archer moved closer. Then he spied a blue leg under the table. He knelt down and grabbed the Starfleet issue boot, tugging sharply.

"Malcolm!"

Archer's armoury officer lay motionless on the ground.

"Malcolm!"

Archer shook him but Reed wouldn't respond. Tucker and Mayweather approached the pair cautiously, watching Archer cradle Reed in his arms.

"You Klingon bastards, you've killed my armoury officer," Archer moaned. "Klingon bastards," he repeated, his voice trembling, "you've killed my armoury officer!" [2]

"But, sir," Mayweather said, "Malcolm's not dead. He's just--"

Tucker clamped a hand over Mayweather's mouth.

"Shh! He's trying to earn himself an Emmy."

"Oh, yeah. Sorry, I forgot."

Reed groaned and shifted, nuzzling against Archer's chest. Then his eyes opened a crack and he stared up at Archer blearily.

"Captain?"

"You're alive!" Archer cried. "Malcolm, you're alive!"

"Wha-?" Reed's words were cut short as Archer hugged him fiercely.

_He's touching me_, Reed thought frantically, _and not in a Captain-showing-approval-for-a-job-well-done kind of way. This is blatant fraternization. If I were sober, I wouldn't stand for it. However, as I'm not..._

Reed pulled himself out of the Captain's embrace and gave Archer a quick peck on the cheek.

Archer stared at Reed with a gaping jaw. "Malcolm...did you just-did you just fraternize with me?"

Reed blushed and favoured Archer with a huge, goofy grin. "I'm sorry, sir. I'm afraid I get a bit sluttish [3] when I'm drunk."

"Really?" Archer gasped hoarsely. "Uh, well, then, we'd better get you back to the bar--"

"Ship," Tucker said.

"-as soon as possible." Archer gazed at Reed thoughtfully. "Do you think you can walk?"

"Yes, sir!" Reed answered smartly.

"Do you think you can walk now?" Archer asked when Reed was still sitting on the ground a minute later.

"Oh, you'd like me to walk now?"

"Yes, please."

"Right, I can do that. I'm sure I can do that." Reed frowned, trying hard to concentrate. "Uh, how do I do that?"

"Here, let me give you a hand," Archer said, yanking Reed to his feet. He held Reed by the arm for a few seconds then tried to let him go. Reed instantly pitched forward. Tucker and Mayweather rushed towards him, but Archer managed to grab him first. "It's okay. I've got him."

Bending over slightly, Archer grasped Reed's wrist and hauled him over his shoulders.

"Malcolm, son of-son of...Little human, what are you doing?" a loud, authoritative voice demanded from the table.

Reed lifted his head, catching sight of Captain Grunt.

"Sorry! Must dash!" he called over the din of the banquet hall as Archer began to carry him away.

Tucker quickly hit the panel by the door, and the Starfleet officers made a hasty retreat from the holographic chamber.

"Wheeeeee!" Reed cried as Archer broke into a run, Tucker at his side. Then Reed grinned at Mayweather, who was bringing up the rear. "Look, Travis, I'm flying!"

"You certainly are, sir!" Mayweather said, sharing an amused glance with Tucker. Reed's head swivelled towards Tucker as well. Then he searched for Archer.

"Where's the Captain?" he asked in alarm.

"He's under you," Tucker said breathlessly.

"What?" Reed shrieked. "Oh, God, I've squashed the Captain!"

* * *

Archer stepped out of his ready room and headed for the captain's mess. He had promised to meet Tucker and T'Pol there after he had spoken to Admiral Forrest. The briefing had somehow managed to be better and worse than he had expected. Archer shook his head in chagrin as he thought about their conversation. There was no way he would ever live this down.

Hoping to postpone the inevitable, Archer considered paying Reed a visit in sickbay, even though it would mean facing Phlox's wrath. Archer couldn't understand why he had been banished from sickbay. After he had deposited his unconscious armoury officer on a biobed, he had volunteered to keep vigil at Reed's side. Phlox and Tucker had exchanged looks before informing Archer that he would have to stay out of sickbay until Reed was sober.

Tucker had said that it was for Reed's own good, while Phlox had explained that he preferred to conduct his observations when both subjects were active and fully awake. And as Archer had pondered the significance of that last statement, T'Pol had suggested that he contact Admiral Forrest. That had been almost an hour ago. He really couldn't put this off any longer, especially as he had just reached the mess hall. Nodding a greeting to some junior officers and waving to Mayweather and Hoshi, Archer made his way to the captain's mess.

Archer had barely crossed the threshold when T'Pol commed the steward, and Tucker poured him a glass of water. Archer sat down cautiously, trying to keep his expression bland. If he kept a calm exterior, they might assume that there was no news from Admiral Forrest and decide not to concern themselves with questions.

"So, how did the briefing go?" Tucker asked.

Archer was spared momentarily as the steward entered and brought their meal. Archer began eating at once, hoping that a full mouth of lasagna might deter Tucker. It didn't.

"So, how was it?"

"Itwazinresing."

"Oh?"

"What happened?" T'Pol demanded, her fork crashing down on her plate. "What did you do this time?"

Archer swallowed and glared at her. "Me? I didn't do anything!" he protested.

"Well, you must have done something if you keep trying to divert us from the subject."

"I'm not sure what you just said, but it isn't true!"

Tucker took a sip of water, eyeing Archer over the glass. "Come on, Captain, you know you're dying to tell us all about it."

"Am not!"

"You'll feel better if you talk about it."

"I doubt it."

"Ah, come on! Pleeease!"

Employing his best Malcolm Reed imitation, Tucker crossed his arms and pouted, waiting for the Captain to cave.

"Okay! Okay!" Archer said five seconds later. "But what I'm about to tell you doesn't leave this room. Understand?"

"Understood," Tucker and T'Pol answered in unison.

"And you can't laugh," Archer said. "Or look all smug and superior either," he added for T'Pol's benefit.

"I think it's probably too late for that," Tucker said with a glance at T'Pol, "but continue anyway."

"Well, I guess I'd better. You're probably going to hear about it sooner or later, even if I don't tell you." Archer sighed deeply, rubbing the bridge of his nose. "Remember that briefing when Admiral Forrest told me that everyone had forgotten about us?"

"Yeah. What about it?"

"Uh...well..."

"What?"

"Apparently it was...it was all just a joke," Archer mumbled.

Almost choking on her vegetables, T'Pol started coughing violently.

"A joke?" Tucker exclaimed on T'Pol's behalf.

Archer nodded, turning beet-red.

"You mean to tell me that our new mission, that story about the Earth forgetting about us, that was all just a joke?"

"Yes," Archer said meekly.

"And you fell for it?"

"Uh..."

Tucker bit his lip, his shoulders shaking. Then he slowly slid off his chair and hit the ground, laughing.

"Trip, you promised!"

"I'm-I'm sorry, Captain," Tucker sobbed, rolling around on the deck.

Archer watched Tucker angrily then whipped around to the coughing T'Pol.

"You!" he said, pointing a finger in her direction.

"I've said nothing, Captain," T'Pol whispered.

"You didn't have to: your expression says it all!"

"Ah, hell, Captain, it ain't her fault that Admiral Forrest suddenly developed a sense of humour," Tucker said, wiping tears from his eyes as he crawled back to his chair.

"Admiral Forrest thought the whole thing was hilarious, of course," Archer grumbled.

"I'm not surprised," Tucker said, struggling to keep a straight face.

"Oh, yes, he thought it was very funny," Archer continued. "Funny until he heard about our run in with the Klingons...and the new paint job to the ship."

Tucker gulped under Archer's stern gaze and suddenly had trouble seeing the humour in the situation.

"I don't think I can possibly stress this point enough," Archer said. "_Please_ don't repeat a word of this to anyone, especially Malcolm. I have a feeling that he's not going to be in a good mood tomorrow."

"Don't worry, Captain, you can rely on us," Tucker said, his lips only twitching slightly. "Isn't that right, T'Pol?"

"Vulcans can always be relied on to be tactful and discreet," T'Pol stated, lifting her water glass to her lips primly.

"Great," Archer said.

"Unlike most humans."

Archer's fingers clenched tightly at the napkin in his lap. Then he remembered something T'Pol had said two days ago and smiled.

"I almost forgot to mention this," Archer said casually, "but there was one piece of good news from Admiral Forrest. For some reason, Starfleet seems to feel that it would be a good idea if we focused less on first contact missions and more on scientific exploration."

T'Pol slowly lowered the glass she had been holding and stared at Archer.

"Yes, T'Pol, I believe this scientific exploration would mean important scientific discoveries as well," Archer said.

T'Pol rose from her chair immediately. "If you will excuse me, Captain."

"Of course."

"Night, T'Pol!" Tucker called as T'Pol walked quickly towards the door.

"Commander. Captain."

The two men waited until T'Pol was outside the captain's mess, and they were well outside the range of Vulcan hearing, before they started laughing.

"Vulcans!" Archer said. "You gotta love 'em! They're so damn gullible!"

Tucker gave Archer a high five and they both laughed some more. It was only a few moments later that Tucker became concerned.

"Captain, what if T'Pol makes an important scientific discovery before you can tell her that it's just a joke?"

Archer thought about the question for a moment then shrugged.

"I'll just get her to name it after me, like she did with all the other important scientific discoveries."

"Oh, yeah. So it will be the Bowman Principle or the Bowman Phenomenon?"

"Exactly."

"Riiight," Tucker said.

The two men grew silent again, until Tucker thought of another question.

"Captain?"

"Yes, Trip?"

"Did Admiral Forrest mention anything about mah shirt during the briefing?"

* * *

[1] Today is a good day to die.

[2] I shamelessly stole this bit of dialogue from "Star Trek III: The Search for Spock".

[3] And I stole this wonderful word from Pippin on "Keen Eddie". By QeylIS, I miss that show!


End file.
